


Coming Back to Life

by Taaroko



Series: After [3]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Defenders (Marvel TV)
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s01e08 The Defenders, Post-Episode: s01e13 Memento Mori
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2018-01-20
Packaged: 2019-02-22 14:39:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13169046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taaroko/pseuds/Taaroko
Summary: After Elektra's first death, Matt tried to bury Daredevil. After her second, he tried to bury Matthew Murdock.(This fic intertwines with my Kastle fic, "Fighting Not to Be Alone.")





	1. Protect My City

As far as the people of Hell’s Kitchen knew, Daredevil had been protecting the streets by night once again, ever since the earthquake and the collapse of Midland Circle. They also knew that their good Samaritan lawyer, Matthew Murdock, had died in that collapse. Karen Page of the  _ New York Bulletin _ had written his obituary and many of his former clients had visited his grave.

They were all mistaken. It had been a long, grueling recovery, but Matthew Murdock was alive and well. When he returned to the city in late December, however, he did so in a nondescript hoodie and pair of sunglasses, no cane. He steered clear of Hogarth, Chao & Benowitz LLP, the Church of the Ascension, and the  _ Bulletin _ ’s offices. 

It didn’t take long to overhear gossip about Daredevil’s latest exploits. A twenty-something woman was telling her friends about how he’d saved her from a mugger. Her tone was dreamy, and Matt could tell she wasn’t lying. An imposter, then? One of those “devil worshipper” copycats? The woman kept on gushing, talking about how he was tall and how she’d never seen moves like that outside of a kung-fu movie. 

Ah, of course.

That little piece of information decided Matt’s next move for him. He waited until nightfall, and before long, he heard light footsteps on a rooftop. He leapt onto a dumpster and pulled himself onto a fire escape, then raced to the top, muscles protesting somewhat from how long it had been since he’d done this. The person he’d heard was still perching on a corner of the roof when he hoisted himself over the ledge and stood upright. He was definitely wearing the Daredevil suit—or  _ a _ Daredevil suit. It didn’t smell like it was made of quite the same material as the one Potter had made him, and this man was a few inches taller, so Matt’s suit wouldn’t have fit him anyway. 

Matt didn’t get within ten feet of him before he spun to face him and dropped into a fighting stance. “If you came here for a fight, you’re going to regret it,” he said, pointing a billy club at him.

Matt smiled and pulled down his hood. “Hey, Danny.”

Danny Rand perked up out of his fighting stance immediately. “Matt?” He pulled off the helmet and ran a hand through his hair. “We thought you were dead.” 

“Nearly was,” said Matt, burying his hands in the front pocket of the hoodie against the chilly air. “I woke up on a cot in a convent infirmary outside the city a few months ago, and I just got back today. I hear you’ve been keeping an eye on the Kitchen for me.”

“You asked me to protect your city,” said Danny. “And you were doing a good thing here. I wanted to keep it going. Plus,” he twirled the billy club, boyish enthusiasm in his voice, “these things are awesome.”

“People don’t think Daredevil’s fists glow now, do they?” said Matt.

Danny chuckled. “No, I haven’t had a fight where I needed that. But I guess now the real Daredevil is back, that won’t be an issue. Does anyone else know you’re alive yet?”

“No, and they’re not going to,” said Matt firmly. “You’ve kept Daredevil alive for me, but Matthew Murdock is dead.”

“You’re not even going to tell the people you care about?”

“They’re safer if they have nothing to do with me. It was me at the bottom of that hole, but next time it could be one of them.”

“You could at least let them know you’re alive,” said Danny. “And what about Luke and Jessica? They deserve to know.” 

Matt shook his head. “I’ll tell them when I’m ready.” 

“It’s your call, I guess,” said Danny,  though he plainly thought Matt was being melodramatic. “If you’re planning to be Daredevil full time, though, you’re gonna need resources.”

“That was the part I hadn’t really figured out yet,” Matt admitted. “I don’t even have the suit anymore.”

“I can take care of that for you. New suit, expenses, housing? No problem.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I spent half my life as a monk with no earthly possessions, and now I have billions of dollars at my disposal,” said Danny. “Trust me. I can afford it. Besides, if I don’t get to do your job anymore, at least I can make it easier for you to do it.”

“You could always come up with your own suit and nickname.”

Danny laughed. “That’s true. Seems like there are more and more of us these days. I mean, Luke and Jessica don’t wear suits, but there’s a guy in Queens running around in a blue and red body sock, stringing thugs up in webs for the cops to find.”

“Wow. I almost feel normal.” And it was certainly good to hear that, of the vigilantes currently operating in New York City, none of them seemed to be of the Punisher variety. It made him feel better about his decision to come back as Daredevil but not as Matt.

“I’ll get you a list of apartments in the morning and you can find one you like. Then we’ll see about getting you a suit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Matt's extreme disregard for his own finances drives me insane. Lucky he has a billionaire friend now.


	2. Those You Left Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're keeping up in "Fighting Not to Be Alone," this chapter takes place after the New Year's Eve chapters.

Danny was true to his word. Within three days, Matt had everything he needed to spend his nights defending Hell’s Kitchen (though, at Matt’s insistence, they’d used Potter for the equipment, not whoever made Danny’s imitation suit). In all the practical ways, it was much easier to be Daredevil when he didn’t also have to be a full-time lawyer. He had time to get enough sleep, to meditate, to do more careful reconnaissance on various criminal elements. But as much as he believed what he was doing was good and necessary, before long, he found himself drawing nearer and nearer to the places—the people—he’d determined to avoid. 

Lurking behind the courthouse on a Tuesday morning, he listened intently and caught snatches of Foggy wiping the floor with the prosecution in his current case. That afternoon, he perched on the roof of the  _ Bulletin_’s building and heard Karen arguing with Ellison over whether or not she was taking too many risks to get her information. Her fierceness made him smile, but he also followed her home to make sure Ellison was wrong about those risks. She walked to her apartment without fear, but she was alert, and he sensed the gun in her purse. When she got home, she moved the gun to her nightstand, smelled the flowers in the pot on her windowsill in a contented sort of way and gave them more water, then turned on some music and did a bit of tidying up while she sang along. Considering that he’d never known her to own a potted plant before, Matt wondered about those flowers, and about why her apartment smelled like she’d recently had a male guest who definitely wasn’t Foggy. He listened carefully to the surrounding blocks, but if anyone dangerous was nearby, he couldn’t detect any sign of them, so he left her to her evening.

On Sunday, from a bench in front of the Church of the Ascension, he listened to Father Lantom’s sermon. He was particularly struck by the responsorial Psalm when the voices of the congregation repeated it in unison: “Justice shall flourish in his time, and fullness of peace for ever.” It felt like confirmation that what he was doing was right. The world would need people like him until there was real peace. But then came, “He shall rescue the poor when he cries out, and the afflicted when he has no one to help him. He shall have pity for the lowly and the poor; the lives of the poor he shall save.” 

A pit formed in his stomach. He was saving lives, certainly. Rescuing the poor when they cried out—from threat of physical danger. What of the other things they needed? He couldn’t help them avoid being crushed by the legal maneuvers of rich people and powerful lawyers while he wore the Daredevil suit. But surely those people still had Foggy. He might work for a big firm now, but he was getting them great press by championing the powerless. That was a reassuring thought, but the pit in Matt’s stomach didn’t go away. 

He redoubled his efforts that night. Over the past week, he’d been closing in on a human trafficking ring—nowhere near as organized as the Russians had been, but very adept at keeping their actions hidden from the authorities. It probably would have been wiser to take it slow so that he could uncover more of their operation before they suspected anyone was onto them. But then the girl had screamed, and he had stopped thinking.

The first five scumbags went down easily. Matt left them bloody and unconscious, twelve broken bones between them. The sixth one had a gun. Matt moved in time to get out of the way of the first bullet, but the noise made his ears ring so that he couldn’t quite map where the second one would go, and it slammed into his right shoulder, tore through the armor, flesh, and muscle, and buried itself in the wall behind him. He disarmed the man with his left hand and pistol-whipped him to knock him out, but his right arm was agony to move, and there were still two more guys to deal with. 

Thirty minutes later, the three kidnapped girls and the eight semi-conscious human traffickers were on their way to the police station. Matt felt slightly dizzy from pain and blood loss. He wanted to act on the information he’d beaten out of the last guy, but that was going to have to wait. 

By the time he dragged himself up to his destination, the alley-facing fire escape window of an apartment three floors above a free clinic in Brooklyn, the dizziness had gotten pretty bad. Luckily, he could hear a heartbeat inside the apartment. He rapped his knuckles on the glass and sagged against the bricks.

The window slid open and Claire Temple leaned out. “Danny, wh—” She began sleepily, but then she broke off with a gasp, heart suddenly pounding. “Oh, my God. Matt.”

“I’m sorry to show up like this. I know you didn’t want to deal with my baggage anymore.” 

With a strangled noise in the back of her throat, she scrambled out onto the fire escape grabbed him in a hug. He returned it, registering surprise in the part of his brain not overcome by pain and fuzz. She hadn’t done anything like that in a long time. “Are you joking?” she said. “I’ll take baggage over dead any day.” 

“Uh, Claire, this is nice but I think I’m gonna pass out.”

“Shit,” she said, letting go so she could help him inside. Her apartment smelled like warm cinnamon and chili powder, and she’d plainly had quite a few visits from Luke. “What happened this time?” She sounded like she couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry—or maybe hit him.

“One of the human traffickers I just busted kinda shot me,” he said. 

“Of course he did.” Claire worked efficiently, getting him onto her couch, a towel underneath the exit wound. “How the hell did you survive Midland Circle?” She flitted about, flicking on light switches and retrieving her bag. He pulled off his helmet and dropped it on the lamp table. “Seismologists decided it was too risky to keep digging through the rubble after the first week because the ground wasn’t stable enough.”

“All I know is that when I woke up, it was September,” he groaned as she came back to the couch and helped him out of the top half of his suit. Potter wouldn’t be happy this one had only stayed intact a couple weeks, but maybe he’d only have to replace the pieces the bullet had damaged. “It took almost until Christmas to recover fully, even spending most of the time meditating and doing physical therapy.”

“Okay, well who pulled you out, and why didn’t they say anything?” she demanded. She’d pulled on a pair of latex gloves and was now examining the wound. “We had a funeral for you.”

“I don’t know who pulled me out,” he said. He’d clung to a hope that it had somehow been Elektra’s doing, but there had been no sign of her at the convent, and by now he was resigned that she was gone for good this time.

“But you’ve been back long enough to bust up a human trafficking ring?” Her voice took on a wry quality. “Does that mean moving to Brooklyn put me way more out of the loop than I thought, or have you just not told anyone?”

“I’m just trying to keep the people I care about safe,” he said. “The Hand knew to come after all of you. I won’t let that happen again.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “So you still want to be a martyr, even though you survived.” He hissed in pain when she applied rubbing alcohol to the wound, but he didn’t reply. “Well it looks like the bullet missed the important stuff. If you do pass out, it’ll have more to do with pain than blood loss.” She applied square bandages to the front and back of his shoulder, and he fell back against the couch, glad to not need to hold himself up anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Claire now lives in Brooklyn. There's a reason for that.


End file.
